“My eyes were fixed, your grace, upon that man’s face when I said I held the proof of his guilt. I saw his cheek turn to the color of his ruff. And by that I knew there was confirmation of my statement had confirmation been required.” “The man was an arrant coward,” said the Queen, contemptuously. “But such evidence of his guilt does not convince me. How say you, my lord?” She turned to Cecil peremptorily. The statesman did not answer the question immediately. For the moment, that powerful and deep-seeing mind was much preoccupied. And when answer he did, it was with the air of a man enfolded by a sense of profound and settled conviction. “By leave of your grace,” he said, “and under your good favor, I am bound to confess that I share the view of this matter which is held by Master Shakespeare. In my humble opinion, the death of this man in such circumstances is an irrefragable evidence of his guilt.” The Queen was now sitting very upright. The lean features had assumed a look of sharpest inquiry. A round oath fell from her lips. “By God’s body, my lord, I begin to think you are in the right!” She was a woman of capricious temper. The milk of human kindness flowed an uncertain stream in that sterile heart. But her ears were never quite deaf to the voice of reason. Moreover, there were occasions when a sense of justice overtook her. It began almost to seem that this occasion was likely to be one of them. “Tell me, my lord,” she demanded, “is this to say that you accept, as a matter of sober verity, that the handwriting of Simon Heriot is contained in this paper?” “Yes, your grace, I am of that opinion.” “You are satisfied that the man, Simon Heriot, wrote this confession with his own hand?” “Yes, your grace, that is the view I hold. In the first place, I have taken the opportunity to compare the writing in the paper with that of another document in the same hand. And may it please your grace that I am fully satisfied that they are one and the same. And, further, I will add that the death in such circumstances of such a man convinces me that a grievous miscarriage of justice has been perpetrated in the case of the young man, Gervase Heriot.” Another round oath rose to the lips of the Queen. She got up impulsively from her couch. The heart of a woman had begun to stir in that withered and grotesque frame. “My lord, if that is your opinion, we must go further into this,” she said. “Upon my life, we must not send to the ax those who have done nothing to deserve it.” “To that, your grace, I say amen with all my heart,” said the Lord Treasurer, assuming an air of simple human kindness, which really became him very well indeed. “Let this young man, Heriot, attend us here and now,” said the Queen. “Unfortunately, both Mr. Heriot and Mistress Feversham have already been removed to the Tower,” said the Lord Treasurer, “until the pleasure of your Majesty be further known.”